Your Winter
by Blues Goddess
Summary: All Leigh wanted was a story, what she got was something that would change her life forever. (BullseyeOC)-based on the movie-updated Yay!
1. Coffe Beeitch, among other things

Disclaimer: You know the drill. What you recognize, I don't own. Leigh and Angelica are mine, however. Bullseye is property of Marvel etc..(but can I have him? Please? ::puppy dog eyes::)  
  
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Daredevil fic...I'm rather nervous about how it turns out, so please, everyone let me know what kind of job I'm doing!  
  
Your Winter  
  
  
  
Chapter One: Coffee Bitch, among other things  
  
  
  
"I won't be your winter. And I won't be anyone's excuse to cry."-Sister Hazel  
  
*  
  
According to Angelica, I am different.   
  
Yeah. She's not the only person who'se told me that. Most don't mean it as a compliment. She says I don't belong in the nine-to-five world, the world of the gray flannel suits. She says I belong with her, in the party-till-six-in the morning-world. She says I'm a night person.  
  
Angelica isn't the typical best friend. But we'll get to that later on.  
  
But her ramblings do finally give me a reason (albeit a weak one) behind my hatred for mornings. I despise mornings. Loathe them beyond all shadow of a doubt. If it was up to me, I'd sleep untill noon everyday. Unfourtunately, I have a job, and since I'm not fond of sleeping on street, that means I have to haul my lazy ass out of bed every morning at five a.m.  
  
Really though, I'm just a big fake. Hah. Had you all fooled with my "we are the different breed of people" speech, didn't I? Well, sorry to dissapoint you all, but I have no idea what I'm talking about. I like to pretend that I fall under the category of a "writer",but really, I don't. I work at the Daily Bugle. (Insert hysterical laughter here). Am I reporter? Please, don't I wish. No, I'm the chick that gets coffee for the reporters. Yes, dear readers. I am the Coffee Bitch, among other things.  
  
I've been working there almost a year now, I started interning there in my sophmore year of college (back then I was happy being the Coffee Bitch) at Columbia University, since then I've graduated (a year early. Yeah. Go me, right? Angelica maintains that something big is going to happen to me, I just have to be patient. But I've never been famous for patience. I've never been famous for anything, really.  
  
I'm just.. me. Leigh McBride. The cute little strawberry blonde who gets your sandwich.   
  
And this is my story. 


	2. Oppourtunity and it's knocks

Disclaimer: Bullseye, the Daily Bugle and Ben Urich are not mine. Everyone else, is.   
  
A/N: Just to state right off, there is nothing at all romantic between Ben and Leigh, there friendship is more along the lines of father and daughter. Got that? ::smiles cutely::   
  
Your Winter  
  
Chapter Two: The Hard Knock Life  
  
  
  
  
  
"Life is just one big sexually transmitted diesease."  
  
*  
  
"--and where the *hell* is my muffin?"  
  
"Right here, Melissa. Calm down."   
  
Did I mention that besides getting coffee, sandwiches or any other food related items, I also play the part of Office Therapist? Which was why I had my arm around the Society columnist Melissa Braddock, who was currently in the middle of a nervous breakdown.  
  
"I just can't believe he left me." She wailed, burying her face on my shoulder. I sighed and patted her shoulder. "I know sweetie, I know." I said soothingly, but here again we have another case of me being a total fake. I've dated a respectable number of guys, had my heart broken a couple of times. But I have yet to find "the one". The guy that made me feel like my soul was being ripped apart, like I would cease to exist without him. I haven't had that yet.   
  
"Oh, Leigh, what am I going to do?" Oh yeah. Enough of my inner ramblings. Back to the present situation. "What your going to do, Melissa, is let go of my shirt," I hated to be whiny but it was new and she was practically wiping her nose on it, "take the day off, go home and rest, and go out with me and Angelica tonight." She sniffed. "Angelica?"  
  
"She broke up with Daniel." Melissa winced, "God help us all." She muttured, relinquishing her grip on my top and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Is my mascara running?" I plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and wiped the black tracks on her cheeks. "Running? Babe you sobbed it off twenty minutes ago." She gave me a watery grin.   
  
"Leigh, could you--?" She gestured to the files strewn across the floor. I smiled wanly, "Yeah. I'll handle it, you get out of here, and call me later?" Melissa nodded, impulsively hugging me. "Your amazing, Leigh." I shoved her towards the door.  
  
"Yes, I am. Remember that the next time I forget to bring you fat free cream cheese."  
  
*  
  
"Leigh?"  
  
I looked up from Melissa's filing cabinet and beamed. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite investigative reporter." Ben Urich rolled his eyes and beckoned for me to follow him. "C'mere, I want to talk to you about something."  
  
Ben Urich jokingly refers to himself as my mentor. In a way, I guess that's exactly what he is. His column, "Urban Myths", is my favorite, and Ben is another one of the vastly under appreciated talents that work at this paper. He's also the only guy I've come across here that actually doesn't mind listening to me bitch and moan when I'm having a bad day. We have an understanding. He doesn't tease me about my obsession with shopping, and I don't put salt in his coffee. Yeah, that actually happened once, but I swear it was accident.  
  
I follow him across the hall to his office and plop down in a chair. Ben sits on the edge of his desk, the ridiculous hat he always wears pushed back so that I can see his face. "What's up, 'O Wise One?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at his serious expression.  
  
"Leigh, how would you feel about writing a column for me?"  
  
I think I passed out. No, I know I passed out, because five seconds later Ben was hauling me back to my feet from where I'd tumbled off my chair. After all, it's not every day that someone just off-handedly offers you the very thing you've been lusting after for the past year. After regaining conciousness, I simply gaped at Ben. "Are you joking?" He grinned. "Me? I never joke."  
  
"Ben--"  
  
He waved me silent, "Leigh, you've been working here almost a year and a half, and while your the best gofer we've ever had, I think your talents are being wasted." He watched my face with an amused expression. "And stop looking so surprised, I can tell it's getting to you, my coffee was starting to suffer."  
  
I somehow managed to pick my jaw up off the carpet and speak. "And you want me...to write a column for you?" I clarified, still unable to believe him. He picked up a folder off of his desk and handed it to me. "You know who the Kingpin is, right?" I rolled my eyes, "No, I've been living under a rock for the past two months." He gave me a look. "Cut the sarcasm for a second, Leigh, I'm throwing you gold."  
  
I shut up. Ben continued. "Since his case was dimissed," He waited, seeing if I was going to comment. "Lack of evidence," I supplied, not looking up from the folder, which was full of newspaper clippings and crude sketches. "Right. So Fisk has been released, and everything is pointing towards him picking up right where he left off."  
  
My gaze caught on a drawing of a man with what looked like a bull's-eye branded into his forehead. I held up the picture. "And who might this cheerfull lil' fella be?"   
  
"Thats your subject. Bullseye." I snorted, "Clever. Great drawing, by the way, he looks like a chimp with a goatee."   
  
"He's Fisk's top assasin. The top assasin in the world, if my sources are to be believed, which I think they are." I studied the picture for a second. "I've never heard of him before this. Why haven't you written about this Bullseye dude before?"  
  
Was it just me or did Ben look suddenly uncomfortable. "To be honest, I've been waiting for the right moment. It's a big story. Not many people are aware of him, and those that are..well they keep their mouths shut.  
  
"Guess so. He doesn't exactly look friendly."   
  
"The city was keeping him under wraps, they still refuse to even confirm Daredevil's existence, let alone some big shot assasin's. But I've heard, from a reliable source, that he was being kept in a prison hospital for injuries sustained from his fight with Daredevil, and escaped from their early this week." I paused, flipping through some more articles. I remembered the day the whole Daredevil/Kingpin thing had gone down, it had been about six months ago, when I was suitably new enough to be practically wetting my pants with excitement at such a huge story. Ben waited silently while I toyed with this new information I'd been given. "So what is it exactly that you want me to do?" I asked finally, looking up at him.  
  
"I want you to find out everything you can about this guy. But Leigh," He looked suddenly serious, "I want you to be carefull. Not only is he extremely dangerous and completely mental, but he's hell-bent on revenge."  
  
"Sounds like a few of my ex-boyfriends." I quipped with a grin. He didn't smile. "I'm serious, Leigh, if you don't feel comfortable doing this, don't." I got to my feet, feeling curiously light-headed. "Your sure you want me to do this?"  
  
"I'm positive. But only if you want to."  
  
I looked down at the folder in my hands, then back to Ben. There was no question.   
  
"I'll do it." 


	3. The Drag Queen Mafia

Disclaimer: If I owned Bullseye I would most assuredly not be here right now. ::grin:: Everything that you don't recognize is mine.  
  
A/N: Yay! Finally some action with our favorite Irish dude. I know it's slow right now. Give it time. Please? ::whimpers::  
  
Your Winter  
  
Chapter Three: The Drag Queen Mafia  
  
  
  
"Chaos, panic, pandemonium-my work here is done."  
  
As soon as I left Ben's office, I called Angelica. "Helloooo?" I winced and held the phone away from my ear.  
  
"Angelica?"  
  
"Baby doll, whats going on?" Once her falsetto had descended back down to a normal leval that wasn't quite so deafening, I placed the reciever back to my ear. "I need your help with something."   
  
"Did you meet a man? Do you want me to do your make-up? Oh my goodness-"  
  
"*Angelica*! No, I did not meet a man, and even though I love you dearly, I would sooner slit my wrists then let you do my make-up."  
  
"Fine. What do you need, sugar?"  
  
Subtle would not be a word I routinely use to describe Angelica. And especially not so soon after a break out. Rabid animals had more subtlety. "Your not going to believe this, but Ben just asked me to write a column for him." Another piercing shriek nearly shattered my eardrums. "Oh baby! I'm so proud, we are *definitley* going out tonight, should I call-"  
  
"The thing is, Ang, I have to get started on this right away. Thats why I need your help." I glanced over my shoulder. "How would you feel about going into the Kitchen with me tonight?"  
  
There was a startled pause, "The Kitchen?" I sighed and leaned against the wall. " 'fraid so. It's not my ideal place to spend a Friday night either."  
  
Angelica sighed, "Alright sugar, anything for you. But can you at least tell me what this is all about?" I glanced over my shoulder, "Not right now. Do me a favor and call Melissa will you? And meet me at my place at nine or so?"  
  
"Yes, Leigh Marie."   
  
"See you then."  
  
*  
  
At nine thirty (fashionably late) the doorbell to my apartment rang. Like most New York apartments, mine is tiny, and ridiculously expensive. But it's nicer then some I've seen, since my Dad insisted on helping me out financially. Good thing too, 'cause with what I'm making at the Bugle, I'm lucky I'm not out wiping off windshields for bus fare.  
  
I opened the door and stared at the sight before me. "What is this, the drag queen mafia?" Angelica sauntered in past me. "I'm incognito."   
  
"Your insane, more like it."   
  
Angelica is a six foot three model, who insists on wearing sky high stilettos and acrylic nails that you could use as a pole vault. She's part cuban, with flawless dark skin and killer cheekbones. Her eyes are a perfect curulean shade of blue, and she is the ipitome of a drag queen. And she's the only person that was nice to me when I moved here, which has earned her my undying friendship.  
  
At the moment she was decked out in a leather mini skirt and a floor length leather jacket. Wrap-around sunglasses were pearched on top of her head, despite the fact that it was pitch black outside. Melissa trailed in behind her, looking gloomy and respectable in jeans and a T-shirt.  
  
"Angelica...are you sure you want to go into the Kitchen dressed....like that?"  
  
She looked over from the hall mirror where she was checking her lipstick. "Honey, I'm not sure I want to go into the Kitchen, period. You know me, I'm all for adventure, but your the one with a death wish, Leigh Marie."  
  
I sighed and glanced over at Melissa, who shrugged her shoulders. "I don't want to go anymore then you two, but this is the first job I've gotten, and I don't want to dissapoint Ben."  
  
"Yeah, what is this mysterious story even about?"  
  
I grabbed my jacket. "I'll explain on the way."  
  
*  
  
I do not have sources.  
  
Ben, on the other hand, has them out the wazoo. So for tonight he's letting me borrow a few of them. I'd stopped at three of the five locations he'd given me, with minimal success. Two told me to fuck off, the third practically ran away from me when I mentioned Bullseye.  
  
Sigh.  
  
Not exactly the reaction I'd been hoping for.  
  
  
  
I was getting frustrated, and my partners in crime, who'se enthusiasm had plumeted when I told them I was tracking the most deadly assasin in the world, were getting bored.   
  
"Sweetie, I hate to be a drag, but I've got to work tomarrow. Can the man-hunt wait?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm going to have to bail as well. I was fighting with Andy all last night and I need some sleep."  
  
I sighed and glanced at my watch. "Yeah. You guys go on home, I want to check out one more place." Angelica frowned. "I dunno honey, you sure it's smart to waltz around the kitchen by yourself?"  
  
I arched an eyebrow at her. "Are you saying I can't take care of myself?"  
  
"I'm saying your a midget, Leigh Marie. Midgets don't intimidate people."  
  
"Speaks the Jolly Green Giant."  
  
Angelica sighed and kissed my forehead, leaving a huge ruby read mark. "Fine, but call me when you get home or I'll be worried." I gave her the thumbs up and they went their respective ways.  
  
I blew a strand of hair out of my face and thought hard. I was not giving up. If this Bullseye guy was out there, I was going to find him.   
  
*  
  
The Black Widow Bar. It was the last option left on Ben's list, and my last shot at getting information. Small, ragged, and apparantly a helluva party place, the Black Widow (cheerfull name, right?) was located between a "Buy Bail Bonds Here" store, and a porn shop. Talk about your ideal location. Scary looking guys dressed in more leather then even Angelica could pull off lurked outside with their Harleys, with women of questionably standard draped all over them, practically falling out of their tube tops. (I would like to point out that it was *freezing* outside, and I don't see whats remotely attractive about catching pnemonia.)  
  
Now, I may be a little white girl from Manhatten, and, as Angelica pointed out, less then..well..tall, I walked with a don't-fuck-with-me attitude and shot daggers at anyone who brushed against me. Which obviously intimidated the bikers and their bimbos. Or maybe they just failed to see me. It's happened before. But regardless, I was feeling pretty confident as I walked in the door. Heh-heh, look at me, out on the job, doing my investigative reporting---  
  
That would be the exact time that some ass-clown slammed into me and propelled me sideways into the bar. "Hey, watch the fuck out, asshole." I snapped (sweet little thing, aren't I?) realizing that not only had I practically dislocated my shoulder, but someone's drink had ended up on my shoes. Right. Remember that feeling of confidence I was telling you about? It had packed up and gotten the hell out of Dodge by this time.  
  
"You want something, kid?" This was the bartender, smirking like he was being oh-so-cute. I gave him an evil look. "Yeah. Give me a beer." I hate beer, by the way, but walking around with one in my hand added to the cool-factor.  
  
He leered at me, "Coming right up." I resisted the urge to kick him in the balls. Business first. I perched on a bar stool and looked around.   
  
People playing pool.   
  
People smoking.   
  
People--whoa. What exactly are *they* doing--  
  
You know what, nevermind.  
  
People playing darts--  
  
Hold the phone. Was it just my uncanny radar sense, or was something off with this particular dart game? The bartender returned with my beer, still with that stupid grin plastered on his face. "Whats going on over there?" I asked, nodding towards the corner, taking a swig and trying not to gag. He leaned closer. Ew. "Some whacko comes in here every once in a while and kicks everyones ass at darts."  
  
"You know his name?" The guy shrugged. "Nah, doesn't talk much. I think he's Irish, or British, or something." Bingo.  
  
I grabbed my drink and jumped off the stool. Okay, so it was nothing concrete, but it was the first lead I'd had all night. I would have jumped at anything. I shoved my way through the throng of people crowding the bar, for once not retaliating against the goombah's that stepped on my feet.   
  
"Shit. Look at that, willya?" I turned towards the drunk guy who'd directed his last statement at me. "Look at what?" My view was obscured by a partially clothed blonde chick in thigh high boots. "Hasn't missed a fuckin' shot all night," He slurred, "lost me twenty bucks. Fucker." And then he promptly passed out.  
  
The blonde in front of me moved sideways, and I pushed forwards. I had, well, it wasn't exactly a good feeling. But a feeling none the less. That's when I saw Him. Standing there chugging a beer and zipping off one dart after another, each landing in the very center of the board.  
  
That was the last remotely normal evening I would ever had. Because as I gaped at this person standing before me, who looked every bit as scary as I'd expected, but not a bit like any drawing I'd been supplied with. As I watched the effortless snap of his wrist, something in me changed.  
  
I just didn't know what yet.  
  
Bull's-eye, indeed. 


	4. Leigh McBride, Reporter Extroidinary

Disclaimer: I claim only my plot, Leigh and her friends. Everything else goes to Marvel. Happy now?  
  
A/N: Hee-hee. Thank you very much to everyone that reviewed. And to everyone that didn't ::scowls scarily:: Just kidding, but really, please, I love reviews! :o) This chapter took forever to write. And I apologize very muchly, I've been insanely busy though with school and all. ::grovels:: Hopefully this will tide you guys over for a bit, as I have no idea when the next chapter will be out.  
  
On a personal note, I should just say that I hate this chapter. But then again, I hate most things that I do, and other people seem to like them just fine. Hopefully that will be the case here . :) And also, getting nice reviews from all you cool cool people (Villainbabe, Lady Discord, Ravenclaw2) you guys are the ones that made me want to write ficcies about our fav. Irish Fella..so thanks a lot :) it means a whole bunch.  
  
  
  
Villainbabe: Sorry if the language bothers you, Leigh is a bit of a potty mouth, and so is Bullseye. :o) If it really bothers you, I can always make an attempt to tone it down. Thanks a bunch for your review! ::grin::  
  
Ravenclaw2: Thanks for the review/support!  
  
Lady Discord: Wow! Thanks so much for your sweet review. I hope I'm doing our favorite Bad-Ass justice..I am trying, but please let me know if I'm doing ok! :o)   
  
Genny and Angelgurl545: Thank you both for your reviews :) I appreciate the support a whole bunch!  
  
  
  
Your Winter  
  
Chapter Four: Come out at night  
  
*  
  
"You come out at night  
  
Thats when the energy calls  
  
And the dark sides light  
  
And the vampires roam  
  
You strut your rasta wear  
  
And your suicide poem  
  
And a cross from a faith that died  
  
before Jesus came.."-Sarah McLachlan  
  
  
  
*  
  
Okay, now because I'm not blind, I could not help but notice that this Bullseye character did not exactly have the typical "villain" look about him.  
  
I mean, yes, he was intimidating and scary and all that. But, well, what I'm trying to say is that..you see..  
  
Aw, hell.  
  
He was cute.  
  
So for a couple of minutes, I indulged my hormones and checked him out. He was fairly tall, 5'9 or 10 I guessed, wearing a black T-shirt, leather pants (Angelica probably would have ripped them off of him if she'd seen him. She has quite a fondness for leather) and big black combat boots. He wasn't facing me, but I could see that he had a light brown goatee, and wore a black skullcap, presumably to hide the brand on his forehead.  
  
I should mention that at this point I had progressed from politely staring to flat out gawking like a simpleton. This was probably the reason he sensed me, and when he turned to collect the bet he'd just won, locked eyes with me and glared, giving me the oppourtunity to note that he had huge, slightly maniacal brown eyes.   
  
But back to the glare I was on the recieving end of. I've been glared at, scowled at, squinted at, glowered at, you name it, I've probably experienced it. One of the many benefits of living in New York and having a hyper active drag queen as a best friend. But I have never *quite* recieved a look that lasted less than ten seconds and scared me the way that look did.  
  
So I did what any tough, on-the-job investigative reporter would do.  
  
Thats right.  
  
I ran.  
  
*  
  
I know. I *know*!  
  
Yes, I am a complete and utter wimp. I am well aware of that fact. That was why I was cowering in the ladies (debateable..) room of the Black Widow Bar and not out there..ahm..doing..whatever it is investigative reporters do.  
  
Cut me a *little* slack here people, after all, my goal had been to *find* Bullseye, I had no idea what to do now that I had actually found him. And Ben, that big idiot, had told me to "find out everything" about him, which is a pretty vague instruction, don't you think? Did that mean I had to actually *talk* to him? Did that mean I had to stalk him around the dark alleys of New York City with a notepad and a tape recorder, asking him what his favorite color was while he killed innocent bystanders? What did Ben want me to do? Play a nice friendly game of *darts* with the fucker?  
  
Sorry. Getting a little carried away.  
  
Anyway, despite my yucky surroundings, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and decided to have a little pep-talk with myself. Unfourtunately, as usual, I didn't have much to say to myself, so I imagined Angelica's voice doing the talking instead.  
  
"Leigh Marie, you've been wanting a break like this for a long time. If you miss out on it because of a silly little thing like fear you could be missing out on a bigger oppourtunity than you know."  
  
  
  
Aw, mushy. But it was probably just the sort of thing she would say, minus a few swear words and encouragement to buy twelve inch platforms and a hat with plumage.  
  
I glanced at the beer still clutched in my hand and chugged it with a grimace. Disgusting. But I had a feeling I was going to need it.  
  
*  
  
So out I strode, ignoring the long line that had formed outside the bathrooms while I was getting my courage up. I ditched the empty beer can and made my way back through the crowd to the dart board.  
  
And---oh no.  
  
Oh please no...  
  
My eyes scanned the bar desperately, my stomach sinking.  
  
Shit.  
  
He was gone.  
  
  
  
*  
  
Now, as tempting as it was to stay in the Black Widow and drown my sorrows, the only thing that I wanted to was return to my apartment, watch "Conan O'Brien" and eat Ben & Jerry's untill I barfed.   
  
What was I supposed to tell Ben? "Hi Ben, remember that article you wanted me to write? That amazing oppourtunity you handed me on a silver platter?Yeah, well, I *did* find Bullseye, but unfourtunately I ran away from him. Sorry! No hard feelings, here's your coffee!"   
  
God, was I ever stupid.  
  
I swallowed hard, fighting back the hot tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Bad stuff always seemed to have a way of happening to me.  
  
"God *damn*!" I shouted in frustration, leaning up against the brick wall of a building and trying not to burst into tears.  
  
That would be the time Bullseye appeared from the alley behind me and grabbed me.  
  
*  
  
"Question one,"  
  
Growled the Irishman, his hand pinning my by the throat against the wall, "Who are you?" Still reeling from shock, the only sound I could make was a terrified little whimper. "Wrong answer," He informed me, grip tightening. He lifted me up so that my feet were no longer touching the ground.  
  
"One more chance, lass. Who are you?"   
  
I've never been famous for rational thinking at the best of the times, and being strangled by an assasin was most definitley not the best of times by any streach of imagination, which was why I was finding it hard to come up with a decent response. That and the fact that I couldn't breathe.  
  
"Leigh-"  
  
I choked finally, "--Leigh McBride--I work--at--at the Daily Bugle." His grip loosened and I slid back down to earth. His hand still remained firmly on my throat, his other hand pressed against my shoulder, so it wasn't looking like I was going anywhere anytime soon. But no way was I telling him *anything*. No way. I would not squeal--no sir,  
  
"What the fuck are you hanging about for?"  
  
"I'm--I'm writing an article about you. For the Bugle."  
  
Whoops. That kind of popped out. His eyes narrowed dangerously, he was inches away from my face. "I don't like being followed, Leigh McBride, you hear me?"  
  
I swallowed nervously, my heart thumping unreasonably fast. "Point taken." His fingers drummed at the base of my neck, as if he was itching to snap it. "You really work for the Bugle? Or are you one of the Devils?" OK---yeah. He was officially nuts.   
  
"N-nooo..."  
  
I answered uncertainly, and his grip tightened again. "Don't fucking lie to me, girl. I'm not stupid." I yelped and tried to twist out of his grasp. "For God's sake, I'm not lying, I don't even know what your talking about---"  
  
Suddenly, so quietly I didn't notice untill he was directly upon us, a man--(?) dropped from the fire escape and grabbed hold of Bullseye, tossing him sideways. This would elevate the situation from freaky to a full blown nightmare. I stared at the two of them, and I finally realized who he was, as he looked at me with sightless red eyes.  
  
Daredevil?  
  
*  
  
Was it ridiculous of me to think that I was dreaming? As the two of them duked it out I pinched my arm, hard.   
  
Nothing changed. Except now my arm hurt. Part of me wanted to run, fast. This was a good enough story, right? Bullseye attacked me and Daredevil saved me? Ben would like that, right? Ben would accept that. He would understand that. It was a helluva lot more then what I had originally been going home with.  
  
Even as I thought this, though, my feet stayed rooted to the ground. I was frozen on the spot. Daredevil caught hold of Bullseye's arm and slammed him against the wall, hard. I cringed. But the blow hardly seemed to faze my subject at all. That was when he caught sight of me, still standing and gawping stupidly, and I saw the idea light up his eyes.  
  
I should have run then, but my feet still were refusing to move. He lashed out and grabbed my upper arm, wrenching me around and pinning me in front of him in one fluid move.  
  
I tried to scream, all of the sudden regaining movement in my legs. "Stupid, stupid, stupid.." I thought viciously, writhing furiously, untill I felt something sharp and metalic press against my throat. Daredevil paused, his body tense and frozen, he was waiting for him to make a move.  
  
"Let her go." He said softly, the hand holding that fabeled billyclub clenching and unclenching tensely. Bullseye laughed, his breath sending a shiver down my spine, I tried not to breathe, as to not apply too much pressure to the pointy object threatening to obliberate several main arteries of mine.  
  
"Yeah, you don't want the death of another pretty little lass on your conscience. Do you, devil?" I had no idea what he was talking about. Daredevil, however, did. His face contorted with hatred. "This is between me and you. She has nothing to do with this. Let. Her. Go."  
  
The assasin laughed again, practically giddy at making Daredevil this angry. "You know, I don't think I will." His grip tightened, and I yelped in pain. Daredevil flinched as if I'd kicked him, but he still didn't move, I could tell he was deliberating wether or not to take out Bullseye and risk killing me.   
  
"Please," I whispered, "just do what he says." Tears of pain were starting to cloud my vision. He stared at me for a second, then he spoke, those freaky red eyes still fixed on me. "If I leave, let her go. If you kill her, I will find out, and I will kill you." Bullseye grinned and yanked hard on my hair, snapping my head back and baring my throat even more. No offense, Daredevil, I'm sure is a fabulous guy, but his negotiation skills left quite a bit to be desired, I mean was I the only one who saw that as kind of a pointless threat? "Or you could not leave, and I could kill her right now. With you watching."   
  
My head tilted back at a degree that would have made the little puking chick from 'The Exorcist' jealous, I tried to think of a way to turn this situation around. I could no longer see Daredevil, but on the upshot I was getting an up close and personal look at Bullseye's chin. What more could a girl ask for?  
  
I heard the soft sound of footsteps receding, and took that as a clue that Daredevil had left. Bullseye's grip loosened, and I straightened up, rubbing my neck and wincing. I wondered if I should try and run, then realized I wouldn't even make it out of the alley.  
  
He watched me closely. "You said your a reporter?" I touched my throat, drew back my hand and stared at the spot of blood on my fingertips. "Yeah. At the Daily Bugle." Was I actually having a relatively normal conversation with a mass murderer? I was? Way to go, Leigh, my mother would be so proud. This ranks right up there with living in New York and being best friends with a drag queen. The family Christmas letter would be a doozy this year.  
  
"And your writing a column on me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So...what, you follow me around and write your little shite column that no one will read anyway, why should I bother? Why shouldn't I just kill you right now and save myself the aggrivation?"  
  
That loveless analysis of my column, my little jewel, pissed me off. The blow wasn't even remotely softened by the rapid, thickly accented way that he talked that, under different circumstances I would have found quite sexy. "It's not a little shit column." I said, hand still at my throat. It smarted like a bitch.  
  
He smirked, grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed me, hard, against the brick wall. Hadn't we done this already? Forget being scared, right now I was just pissed. My neck felt broken, my new jeans we're ripped, my column was going straight to hell, and to top it all off, I was being physically assaulted by a big shot Irish assasin.  
  
"For Christ's sake, get OFF of me." I snapped, the words out of my mouth before I had time to check them with my brain. Bullseye blinked in surprise, then laughed. Not a funny "ha-ha, well aren't you just too cute," kind of laugh, more of a "watch it, shortie, or I'll bludgeon you to death with your boots" kind of laugh.  
  
"You know, lass, you talk too much."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "It wasn't a compliment."  
  
And then he let go of me. And backed up. I stared at him in shock. I had been expecting the worse, thinking my stupidity and huge mouth had finally caught up with me, and mentally saying my farewells to Angelica and my dad. And now he was just letting me walk?   
  
I swallowed hard. "What do you want?" I mean, come on, naturally there was a catch. Or maybe there wasn't, and I was just too stupid to take my chance and run with it. He pulled off his skull cap, ran his fingers over the scar branded onto his forehead. He seemed to be thinking. "I want publicity, sweetheart. What is it you American's say? 'No such thing as bad publicity'?"  
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Excuse me? Do all super-assasins come around this easily? "You want me to write the column?" I clarified. He grinned..or sort of grinned. More of a sneer really. Whatever. I took that as a yes.  
  
"On one condition, Leigh McBride, stay the fuck out of my way. I don't want to see you, hear you, nothing. I don't want some stupid cow messing up my job. Got it?"  
  
I bit my tounge, hard. No, I didn't "get it". How in the name of God was I supposed to get a story and provide Mr. Ego-Tripping-Target-Happy-Irish fellow with a suitable bit of "publicity" if I wasn't even allowed to be seen by him?   
  
"Now get out of here,"  
  
He growled, jerking his thumb in the direction I was supposed to go. "I have business to do." I resisted the urge to tell him to shove his business and his fucking publicity, but decided against it. I was the one writing the column, after all, and it was going to be on *my* terms.  
  
I just didn't think right now was the best time to point this out.  
  
But I would.  
  
Eventually.  
  
Right now I would settle for getting home with all my body parts in their respective places, thank you.  
  
*  
  
"Oh my *god*!"  
  
That would be the sound that greeted me when I opened the door to my apartment. Melissa and Angelica, under the guise of being concerned about me, but really just an excuse to eat my pop-tarts and watch my cable, had camped out at my place.  
  
But as soon as they caught sight of me, all hell broke loose. Melissa was halfway to the phone, presumably to call for an ambulance, and Angelica, always prepared, chucked a bag of frozen peas at my head. As to why, I'm not exactly sure.  
  
"Oh my poor BABY!" She wailed dramatically, throwing her arms around me and dragging me over to the couch, nearly dislocating my arm in the process. "Angelica--" I said, trying to remain calm and extricating the peas from where they'd been imprinted in my neck.  
  
"I KNEW this would happen, I TOLD Melissa we should have stayed, and now some Hell's Angel named T. Bone has violated my little Leigh Marie--"  
  
I untangled myself from her and stood up. "Angelica, calm down. I'm fine. Melissa, get off the phone, will you?" Melissa, eyes practically bugged out of her head, solemnly put the phone back down and came over to sit next to Angelica, who was weeping theatrically.  
  
"Ang, I'm fine, look, but what the hell was the peas for?" I asked, holding up the package of frozen goods, now melting and gushy, dripping all over my floor.  
  
"It was to take down the *swelling* on that shiner you've got, Leigh Sugar, have you looked at yourself lately?" Angelica sniffed indignantly, obviously insulted I had questioned her nursing abilities. Melissa gave me the once over and wrinkled her nose.  
  
  
  
"Yeah. You look like shit, babe." She confirmed  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"But your sure your OK?"  
  
Yeah, sure, why not. I felt like a pack of elephants had played Twister on me, but nothing seemed serious. I had more pressing concerns then my health at the moment. "I'm fine, I just really want to get some sleep. I had a tough night."  
  
*And the winner of the understatement of the year award goes toooo.. Leigh McBride! Yay!*  
  
Anyway. Because Melissa and Angelica are Best Friends Supreme, they picked up on the fact that I didn't want to talk about what had happened. They gave me the usual, 'call us if you need anything', bit and left me in silence.  
  
Left me with nothing but my own very confused, very scared, thoughts.  
  
I sighed, went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Nearly passed out when I saw my reflection. Melissa had'nt been exaggerating, I did look like shit. "Leigh Marie," I said to that girl looking back at me, "you have a talent for screwing things up."   
  
And I did. But you know what, screw it. I was going to do the story, even if it was just to prove that I *could* do it. I was still going to do it. And it was going to be the best column that the Daily Bugle had seen in a long time. Watch out Bullseye, Leigh McBride, Reporter Extroidinary, is on the job.  
  
Take that, Geraldo Rivera. 


End file.
